


Don't Lie To Me

by athenril_of_kirkwall (al_fletcher)



Series: Hudson Hawke [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dragon Age Drunk Writing Circle, F/M, Past Relationship(s), Prompt Fic, The Hanged Man (Dragon Age), Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 00:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17192861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/al_fletcher/pseuds/athenril_of_kirkwall
Summary: Athenril comes to The Hanged Man to settle a debt.





	Don't Lie To Me

**Author's Note:**

> From the way she talks to Hawke during "Loose Ends", it's been speculated that Athenril and Hawke totally had a thing going on until he abruptly broke it off.
> 
> If you give the goods to Pryce and tell Athenril as much she ambushes you, with the only option to kill her in self-defence.
> 
> Here's how else things could've gone.

You could cut the tension in the Hanged Man with a knife.

It was as though someone had cast a paralysis glyph on the floor the moment the door opened to reveal Athenril, the infamous Hightown smuggler, and two of her heavies.

Moments later, practically everyone in the pub suddenly remembered business they had elsewhere, leaving to attend to it immediately, with the exceptions of the bartender (who didn’t have that excuse) who stood rooted to the spot, cloth-bound hand seemingly stuck in a tankard, and the table of four in the middle of the establishment.

The red-haired elf stared at the barman through the corner of her eye. “You’re closed for the night.”

Hands still frozen, the hapless bartender nodded his head.

“ _And_ you’ve packed up and gone home five seconds ago.”

Practically hurling the tankard into the open cupboard and the cloth over his shoulder, he fled through the open door, which one of Athenril’s henchmen closed behind him. Looking up from his game of Dead Man’s Tricks, Hawke finally addressed her.

“Athenril. Surprised to see you here in Lowtown.”

Scrutinising him and his companions, who were respectively idly playing with a crossbow bolt, another toying with a pair of daggers, and the third glancing nervously at a staff leaning against the table, she said, “We had one rule, Hawke.”

Stretching his arms and knitting his fingers behind his head in his typically arrogant fashion, Hawke asked, “Remind me again. No murders or slaves?”

Letting her hand drop to her belt, where her daggers were sheathed, she retorted, saying, “No, it was ‘don’t lie to me’.”

In a flash, Varric had his hand on Bianca’s hilt, Isabela had gathered her own daggers in her hands and started marking targets with her gaze, and Merrill had seized her staff, which now had its tip alight. Athenril’s associates had their weapons half-drawn when Hawke stretched his hand out, waving them to stand down.

“Out of curiosity, how _ever_ did you find out? I thought I’d done something clever.”

“You could never get anything past me, Hawke, even if you wanted to,” she said, perhaps a touch rawer than she’d liked, “and as to _how_ , that was the simplest part. Spotted Pryce and his sisters on the first ship out of the docks this morning.”

“You didn’t-” Hawke spat, tensing up as he braced against the table.

She rolled her eyes. “Relax, Hawke. I’m not petty enough to hold a grudge against one youth and his kin, and whatever’s waiting for them in Ostwick might cause whatever I had planned to pale in comparison.”

“Ostwick…” he trailed off, continuing, “…and you of course concluded that I’d made a charitable donation to the refugee cause. He was saying he was sick and tired of working for you. I just happened to empathise deeply with his circumstances.”

“Of _course_ you would. Those goods were worth a small dividend, Hawke.”

Suddenly enraged, Hawke slammed his palm into the table, surprising even his companions. “He was a _boy_ , ‘Thenni!”

Isabela whispered to Varric, “‘Thenni’?” Varric pulled a face and made a slashing movement across his throat, shushing her.

“Cry me a river, Hawke. I’ve had to do more than he ever did since I was _eight_ in this damned pit of a city.”

“Explains a great deal,” Hawke murmured.

Staring daggers at him, she continued, “I thought you of all people would understand.”

“Understand what, Athenril? That people only like you and your outfit because you’re the Coterie with a pretty face?”

“Glad to know you still feel that way,” she said, bitterness in her voice.

The air stood still in the tavern, with none of the parties knowing quite what to say. Eventually, Hawke dug around in his coin-purse, withdrawing a few gold sovereigns.

“How much was it worth?” he asked apologetically.

Blinking, she asked, “What?”

“The goods you wanted me to secure,” he said quietly, flicking a coin to her.

She caught it and hurled it back, landing amongst his hand of cards and scattering them across – and off – the table.

“Don’t bother. Take your apology and eat it. Even if you _could_ pay it off, I’m done with you, Hawke. Consider the books _closed_. Forever.”

She spun on her heel, but not before locking eyes with Merrill.

“Understand you’re his new squeeze. Figured he had a type,” she spat, “He’ll show his true colours eventually. Hope you figure it out before I did.”

With that, she turned and left, her accomplices following her out.

Silence reigned until Varric placed Bianca back under the table, asking Hawke from there, “So, ‘Thenni’, huh?”

Hawke clamped his eyes shut and planted his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands. “Shut the hell up and get me something from behind the bar, Varric, _anything_. Just make sure it’s strong enough to make me forget all about tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: https://athenril-of-kirkwall.tumblr.com/post/181505132930/


End file.
